


Ghosts Of Who We Used To Be

by geckoholic



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In December 2019, both the Beckets and the Hansens participated in a three-jaeger-drop in Manila. Herc just found out about the crime his brother committed, Raleigh just turned 21 in the midst of a war, and after they fought and won, the four of them find themselves in a small bar in downtown Hong Kong where things come to a head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts Of Who We Used To Be

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on additional canon provided by the novelization, the graphic novel, and by Travis Beacham on Tumblr, but it's meant to and should stand alone if you're not familiar with either. It was sort of prompted by one of the many twitter convos I have with totallybalanced. She throws sad headcanons out there, I yell at her, then we cry together. It's beautiful, really.
> 
> Beta'd by totallybalanced, dotfic and alice_pike. Thank you! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Find My Way" by Nine Inch Nails.

For the Christmas when Raleigh was nine, their father got picture books for him, Yancy and Jazmine. He was away more often than not, had no real clue what either of them was really into, and in hindsight Raleigh thinks he might've just grabbed three books that looked interesting. Yancy got something about baseball even though he'd never been much of a sports geek, Jazmine got a cutesy one about horses even though she was afraid of them and all about princesses at the time, and Raleigh got one about planes. War planes, to be exact. 

Yancy and Jazmine politely said their thank-yous and never opened their books again after the holidays were over. Raleigh, on the other hand, read his cover to cover the following week, and many times over in the weeks and months to come. He could recite from it at the drop of a hat – and, much to the chagrin of both Yancy and their mother, would do so frequently. He made their father scan a few pages so he could put them up on the wall above his bed, like little posters. When other boys drew superheroes on their text books, Raleigh drew planes and engines. 

Years later, when they made the cut as Rangers and got assigned their own Jaeger, they were asked if they wanted to name it. Yancy looked over to Raleigh, elbowed him and laughed. “Oh, I'm sure he's got a few ideas.” 

And of course, Raleigh did. He knew exactly which one he wanted. 

 

***

 

The human mind is a vicious creature at times. Herc learned as much when Angela died, having his brain throw a mental image of her smile at him at the most inappropriate times or realizing just how similar the color of her eyes was to Chuck's right when he'd finally managed to coax a grin out of his son. 

The memories Scott tries to hide from him are the first thing circulating between them on the next deployment after _that night_. Scott picks up on Herc's decision to report him and request a new co-pilot before he even consciously makes it. Just a few seconds of mental back and forth, and everything is said – or not said – and done. 

And then they almost get killed. 

Herc gets called in first, afterwards. He's not interested enough in the scientific, technical side of things to care whether or not their brainwaves painted everyone a picture of what happened, but he knows the higher-ups have always looked at Scott as a necessary evil. Too cocky, too arrogant, too much drinking and too many women. He doesn't behave like a soldier, no integrity and no restraint, and that doesn't mix well with their general outlook on honor and duty. But he's a good pilot. They're a good team. Or they were, until today. 

They screwed up big. Lucky Seven is barely salvageable. The new Mark V is out of production and ready, but they were supposed to have a few weeks of training on it, time to get used to it and break it in, before putting it into the field. The new team for Lucky Seven has already been picked; Chuck's one of the pilots, all primed to take over just as soon as he leaves the academy. 

With a deceptively calm face, Mackay – the uniform currently in charge here in Sydney – sits down across from Herc, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “Tell me what happened.” 

And Herc does. 

 

***

 

War, when it comes down to it, involves a whole lot of waiting. Raleigh's read reports about how soldiers during the world wars spent days, sometimes weeks sitting around, anxiously waiting for their marching orders. Apparently some things never change.

But he's not anxious. Not really. This doesn't feel like the kind of war he read about as a kid, where people went in knowing only a certain percentage of them would make it home. No cannon fodder this time around. He's aware of the risk, but he also knows that they're _supposed_ to come out the other end alive. 

He's just turned twenty-one, and the Shatterdome is gearing up for Christmas. Someone put holiday lights up in the mess hall, and a tree in the corner. That's about the extent of seasonal decoration Stacker will allow. Up against blank stone walls with military insignias painted on them, they look more out of place than anything, but hey. If it makes someone feel better about spending Christmas here instead of at home with their families, waiting for a call to action that might or might not come, then there's nothing Raleigh can say against it. There are no emergency crews in the PPDC, no special time off for the holidays, and some of them have wives and kids at home that they miss even more at times like this. 

He doesn't have that problem. Pretty much all that's left of his family is right here with him, and neither he nor Yancy have ever been big on the whole carols-and-Santa spiel. Not since they were, like, ten. 

It's shortly after midnight on December 16th when Stacker calls them into LOCCENT. There's a kaiju emerging, a big one, heading for the Southeast Asian coast. 

“Category four,” Stacker says. His voice is even, as usual, no emotion, no fear or worry, but his eyes keep flickering to the blinking screens in front of Tendo's work station. “You won't be going solo. We're in contact with Sydney and Hong Kong. They'll be sending out teams as well.” 

Raleigh catches a few glimpses of the display. He's no tech or scientist, but he knows enough to realize that what he sees flashing on the screens isn't like anything he's seen to date. Three Jaegers. They're not fucking around. 

Stacker lets that sink in, then gestures to Tendo to pull up another screen. “Your meeting point. We have yet to see where it's going, exactly, but we're confident that's the general area. Get ready.” 

He and Yancy exchange a look, nod almost at once, and Stacker dismisses them with a curt nod of his own. 

 

***

 

For weeks, Herc hopes the breach stays silent for entirely different reasons than usual. Months might pass between attacks; maybe he's lucky. Maybe he won't get called into action before Chuck is ready for active service and Scott will be dismissed as his co-pilot, put in front of a court, where he belongs. Tests and training on Striker are hard, but there's nothing at stake then, and they've both been at it long enough to keep a little distance in controlled circumstances. Battles are different. 

The thing is, Herc has never really stood on Fortuna's good side. When they get called in because Vulcan Spector's down a pilot due to a complicated back fracture, he knows what's coming. 

Scott grins at him when they meet in the hallway. Apart from the dry runs and the necessary briefings, Herc has avoided him as much as he can, but Scott doesn't seem to have any such qualms. He's extra cocky, abrasive, all huge grins and dirty jokes. Looking for a fight, but he's looking in the wrong place. Herc's not going to do him the favor of starting a brawl. 

Mackay makes quick work of briefing them, shooting nervous side glances at both of them all the way through, and not much later they're dressed and heading for the conn-pod. Scott's obnoxiousness has given way to a calm but hostile mood that comes off him in waves, and yep, Herc can relate to that much better. He tries to pace himself, knows that if they go into the drift with that mood on top of the tension, they're bound to screw it up. 

And they can't. This is bigger than the two of them. There's a reason why disciplinary measures have been postponed until Chuck has finished his training; when it's about saving the world from giant monsters, justice takes the backseat. 

The memories find their way into Herc's consciousness almost immediately. He's prepared this time, doesn't get thrown as hard when he hears the muffled screams, feels the body struggling underneath his own, his nervous system flooded with the mix of exhilaration and fear Scott felt when it became lifeless and numb, windpipe crushed, no longer able to withstand the lack of oxygen. 

It's still enough to warrant a warning from LOCCENT, informing them they're going out of synch. Herc feels Scott pull back, prod them both to another memory, something, anything else. He's not so far gone that he'd willingly endanger a mission just to get back at Herc for reporting him, and Herc's not sure if he finds that thought reassuring or upsetting. 

 

***

 

The goddamn thing is _huge_. It has been named Jiaolong, after a Chinese water-dragon, according to Tendo, and Raleigh thinks the name's quite fitting. The thing is a sea creature through and through, long and thin with a strong tail and small legs that make it look like the bastard child of an eel and an alligator, or... well, like a dragon. It seems quite at home in the water too, quick to dodge anything they throw at it. They were supposed to attack it at open sea, keep it well away from any coast, but that didn't really work out. Horizon Brave, the Chinese Jaeger that was sent out from Hong Kong, is already down for the count, inoperable for the time being and circled by Sikorskys to get the pilots out. Their feed has mostly gone quiet. From what Raleigh understands, Xichi Po is close to loosing consciousness, holding on until they're evacuated so her co-pilot doesn't have to keep the Jaeger upright by himself. 

It took both Danger and the Australian Jaeger, Striker Eureka, a Mark V fresh of the assembly line, to distract the thing from Horizon Brave, keeping it from beating the old Jaeger to a pulp after it incapacitated it. Striker's fast, kept up with Jiaolong when it slipped away, gliding through the current like it belonged there. They currently have it engaged in the Jaeger-kaiju version of hand-to-hand combat, countering punches from the short but powerful front claws and parrying them, but seemingly unable to do any damage themselves. The Hansens, her pilots, don't talk much while they fight, probably doing most of their communication in the drift, wordless and efficient. The only things they're stating out loud are facts and status reports for the benefit of the LOCCENT team. 

All the while, Danger's still catching up, just a few heartbeats behind but it seems like an eternity, out here, in the middle of combat. The water all around them isn't doing them any favors; normally it's not a problem, but so far out and with an opponent as agile as Jiaolong it costs them precious seconds of reaction time to go against the water pressure. Looking at it from that angle, it's actually good that they're approaching the coast of Manila – makes things easier, evens the playing field somewhat.

Ever so slowly, step by step, Striker is forced to give ground, until the thing gets one of its claws past their defenses. Both Yancy and Raleigh wince in sympathy as they hear an agonized cry from their feed. Jiaolong got a swipe with one of its back claws in, not doing any crucial damage, but it must've cut deep enough to trigger the sensors that take the signals from the Jaeger's systems and translate them into pain relayed to the pilot. Jiaolong follows up with a punch of its powerful tail, causing Striker to stagger backwards just long enough that it manages to slip away once more. 

Luckily, the maneuver puts it right into Danger's path. With a wide step to the side, they're close enough to grab hold of the tail, stopping the kaiju's forward momentum. It wriggles this way and that, trying to break free, turns around to snap at them. From this angle they're safe from the claws, but they also can't do much by way of attacking the thing, needing both hands to keep it from breaking their hold on its tail. 

In the meantime, Striker has once more been able to catch up. Equally out of range of the dangerous back claws, they grab the kaiju's shoulders, burying their sting blades in the flesh of its neck. Jiaolong's struggle lessens for a moment, just long enough for Yancy and Raleigh to reassert their own grip on the thing's tail, twisting it around hard and causing it to twitch and roar in either pain or frustration while strings of its bright blue blood swirl in the water around them. Raleigh's never sure what exactly it is that kaiju are feeling in moments like this, if _feeling_ is even the right word for it. He doesn't particularly care either, though, so it's not high on his list of priorities to sort that out. Whether the effect is purely physical or actually causing a reaction doesn't matter, the end result is the same. 

Yancy prompts them to get into a more stable stance and edge Danger's right hand up the tail, and Raleigh immediately catches what he's up to: if they manage to pin it in place with just one arm, they'd be free to use the pulse canon with the other. Even with Striker firmly holding on to head and shoulder, it takes considerable effort to keep the recovering Jiaolong from breaking free while the canon loads. It puts the claws close enough that they're swiping through the water inches from them. If the thing twists in just the right way, if their grip slips just for a moment, they'll be within their range. Time ticks by in slow motion while Raleigh and Yancy stare at the numbers detailing the loading process, willing the numbers to rise faster. 

They manage to keep Jiaolong still enough, and when the canon's finally ready, they get a perfect shot from close range that tears a giant hole in its belly. The creature rears up, then deflates, going limp in Danger's grip and painting the sea water around them blue with the blood that streams from the wound. 

 

***

 

Horizon Brave's pilot team is immediately flown to the medical center in the Hong Kong Shatterdome. They'll pull through, Herc's sure, but the PPDC isn't known to take risks when it comes to their Rangers. Him and Scott and the Beckets are released to off duty after the usual routines. Neither Striker nor the American Jaeger are too incapacitated to get back to their respective home bases, but it's not unusual that preliminary repairs are done at the nearest Shatterdome before it's off back home. 

Free time with his brother is about the last thing Herc's keen on right now. On the other hand, he doesn't want Scott to roam Hong Kong by himself, not after what happened, and so he reluctantly sticks to his heels and ignores the raised eyebrows Scott shoots him. 

The Beckets catch up with them just outside the building. Raleigh's waving at him and Scott, huge, cocksure grin on his face, still riding the adrenaline high from fighting and winning, and Yancy's next to him, hand on his shoulder and wearing a more restrained smile that's half fondness and half embarrassment. It sends Herc back to another time, when him and Scott were...well, maybe not quite exactly like that, but a team. A unit. The two of them against the rest of the world, and odds are they'll come out on top. He knows that feeling. He's looked at Scott with some of what lies in Yancy's eyes when he looks at Raleigh. 

He hopes it never turns sour on them as it did on him. 

“Mind if we join ya?” Raleigh asks, and before Herc's got the time to intervene, Scott's nodding. 

“Sure. Why not?” He elbows Herc, who has a hard time not answering with a real punch to his brother's rips. 

“Yeah,” Herc says. “Why not.” 

He doesn't miss how Yancy's gaze flicks between the two of them, sensing the tension. He doesn't say anything, though, and Herc and Scott let the Beckets take the lead. They're in perfect sync, even out here, matching each other's steps, shoulders moving as one, as the four of them leave through the gates of the military compound. 

 

***

 

Hong Kong is bright, loud, and colorful. It reminds Raleigh of his childhood, when they were still an intact family of five and moving around to keep up with his father's work, a new and infinitely exciting town to explore every few months. People around him chatter in a language he doesn't understand. He learned a bit of Japanese once, fourteen years old and helplessly smitten with a girl from school who, as it turned out, had been from Michigan originally and didn't speak a word of it herself – but he doesn't know any Chinese. It's warm, downright tropic temperatures compared to Alaska, and they're not in uniform, casually running around in baggy military pants and equally military-issued shirts. Nothing unusual in a city that houses a Shatterdome, and no one turns their heads as they pass. 

The time when people all over the world bothered to memorize the face of every Jaeger pilot that ever crossed their TV screen and interviews followed each drop are over. 

After roaming through midtown for half an hour, they find a small bar that advertises itself with loud, quirky-sounding music and cheap drinks. It's quite crowded, but they manage to find a corner booth for themselves, him and Yancy on one side, the Hansens on the other. 

It's not until they've settled and ordered their first round of drinks – the imported beer from the ads outside – that Raleigh realizes neither Hansen has said a word to each other since they left the Shatterdome. Herc and Scott look carefully the other way, spaced apart on the bench as much as the limited space allows and hey, whoops. Looks like he's maneuvered Yancy and himself right in the middle of some sort of fraternal spat. 

But he doesn't intend to let that get in the way of his fun night out. Alaska's not exactly known for it's diverse night-life, and they're here. A week after his birthday, no less. They've got the day off. He's not going to sit here and watch the Hansen brothers grump at each other the whole time. 

Jostling Yancy to get his attention, Raleigh points at the bar. He's spotted a little group of three or four girls that keep giggling and throwing glances in their direction, and even though he's not all too versed in Chinese culture, that's probably a rather universal expression of interest. Yancy follows his gaze, shrugs, and wraps his hand a little closer around his glass. No wingman, then. Raleigh can live with that, and anyway, girls are a bit of a sore topic between them since the _incident_ at the academy. That's all right. He's over it, Yancy's over it, but they tend to stay out of each other's way in that regard. 

“I'll relocate to the bar for a bit,” Raleigh announces, winking at Yancy who dutifully rolls his eyes in response, and off he goes. 

 

***

 

Raleigh Becket's attempt at wooing a small group of local women lasts about ten minutes and is, apparently, unsuccessful. He's back at their table alone before Herc or anyone else has even finished their first beer, and doesn't seem too stricken by it. The grin on his face is still firmly in place, and as if the failed flirt kicked open some sort of dam, he's chattering non-stop. 

Herc doesn't mind. He doesn't bother keeping track of everything the kid says, but it's better than the awkward silence from before. Every now and then, Yancy chimes in, mostly with corrections to whatever story Raleigh's telling or a well-placed insult, which makes Raleigh glare or box him in the upper arm but only has him grin wider. 

Scott's getting into it too, digging out stories of his own. Herc knows all of them, has heard them too many times. A few weeks ago he'd have helped telling them regardless, but now he's not feeling it. He doesn't care if that makes him look like a killjoy, has never given much of a damn about what people think. He won't put on a show for anyone's benefit. By his second beer he's about ready to leave Scott with the Beckets – Herc never signed on to be his guard dog. He'll go back, see how Striker's doing, if the techs will have her ready to leave in the morning. 

That's when he hears Scott suggest a round of hard liquor for all of them, and tunes back into the conversation right in time to hear Yancy decline and protest. 

Scott's not having it. “Nah. He's legal, even by your standards now, right? Doesn't need his big bro to tell him what to do. Let the kid have some fun. C'mon, I'll pay.” 

Raleigh does look a little torn, gaze flicking between Scott and his brother, but despite Yancy's disapproving frown, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Why not?” 

Patting his shoulder, Scott gets up, and the table is dipped in silence until he reappears with a bottle of some sort of schnapps and four shot glasses. He fills each of them, pushing them across the table. Herc declines his, which Scott acknowledges with a shrug. Raleigh and Yancy accept theirs, although the latter still doesn't look thrilled. A matter of principle, probably; no matter the date on his ID, Herc doubts that this is Raleigh's first hard drink, not by a long shot. Maybe it's about getting tanked with two senior Rangers, or doing so in public, or doing so while technically still on a mission, away from home. 

Whatever it is, it gets washed away on a wave of cheap alcohol rather quickly. Yancy loosens back up, Raleigh takes his chatter up again – only it makes even less sense now – and Scott gets louder. And more obnoxious. He starts to rant, shouts at random patrons for misconducts only he sees. Herc remembers the last time he acted like that. He remembers it all too vividly, especially how it ended. 

To give himself something to do, Herc reaches out to his neglected glass, pours a shot of his own. More than a third of the bottle's content is gone at this point. He can't stand this sober, and he's got some catching up to do. Scott can glare at him with that obnoxious, smug expression all he wants. Soon, Herc will cease to care. That method got tested now and then in the weeks after Angela died, lonely evenings when he unloaded Chuck at his aunt's and didn't pick him back up until noon the next day. If he made it through _that_ , he can get through this too. 

The Beckets don't seem to notice any of what's going on across the table. They're talking amongst themselves now, apparently having decided Scott being a grumpy drunk is not something they want to deal with tonight. From what Herc understands, it's an animated discussion about movies that had a few miles on the meter already when he was their age. 

Herc's downed his third shot and is just starting to feel comfortably numb around the edges when Scott gets up. Immediately, Herc feels compelled to look around, see if he can make out an offender or another reason, anything that needs contained, but Scott just frowns at him. “Calm down, mate. Going to take a piss. I'm not a fucking psychopath, I'm not on a killing spree, you have _no_ idea what really happened.” 

He probably thinks he's said it under his breath, but traditionally volume control is one of the first things that get screwed over by alcohol. His voice didn't quite make it to shouting-at-the-whole-bar, but it was loud enough to make Yancy and Raleigh perk up, fall quiet, and look away in a futile pretense that they didn't hear what Scott just said. 

“Come with me,” Herc hisses, getting up himself and grabbing Scott's shirt, pulling him away from the table. He lessens his grip when Scott complies, but doesn't let go until he's steered them to a corner of the hallway in front of the men's room. 

That's about as far as his plans went, and so they stand there, unmoving, staring each other down for moments that stretch out like years. Finally, Scott bats at Herc's hand. 

“Let go of me,” Scott says. “Jesus. Way to make a scene out of thin air, I'd have expected that shit from your son, not from you.” 

“Leave Chuck out of this. Don't you even –“ Herc lets go of his brother's shirt, balls his hand into a fist. He's not going to take the bait. He's not going to punch him, not now, not here, not ever. _He's not._ Instead, he takes a step back, takes a breath. “What did happen? You said I have no idea what really happened, so tell me.”

Scott glares at him, expression glazing over with disbelief. “You... don't understand?” 

“No. I don't.” Herc's not sure what Scott's trying to say, if it's a statement or a question, what it is that he doesn't get. The one thing he's sure of is that he doesn't _want_ to understand. Excitement and titillation, felt through Scott's memory in the drift, flash in Herc's own mind alongside with the smile of the girl when she was still alive. He shakes his head to get rid of it. 

Scott doesn't say anything further. He doesn't offer up explanations. His face falls as they look at each other in the dim light that shines through the bathroom door standing ajar, as if he's disappointed. Like he's seriously hurt that Herc doesn't get him. 

Right there, Herc realizes he doesn't want to know, doesn't want to understand. He doesn't care about Scott's reasons, or why he might think it was his right to take an innocent girl's life. What's worse, Herc's not even sure he still cares much about _Scott_. 

Without a look back to see if Scott follows him or not, he walks back to their table, fills his glass one more time, drinks up, and leaves the bar in direction of the base. 

 

***

 

Morning comes with a grave hangover for both Yancy and Raleigh, in more than one way. Day two after a deployment, and their brains are still aligned. Not functioning in unison anymore, like the hours after, but Raleigh knows Yancy's head is pounding as hard as is his own while his brother is still lying on his bed, awake but eyes closed, slowly getting accustomed to being not-asleep and not quite capable of forming full sentences yet. 

There are things made nicer when you share them with someone. Headaches? Not so much. 

Safe in the knowledge that Yancy isn't likely to swing his legs out of bed soon unless forced or ordered to do so, Raleigh heads off into the shower to get rid of the sour stink that comes with a night spent drinking in a crowded, smoke-filled bar. 

They stayed out for a little while longer after the Hansens left, Herc first and Scott maybe half an hour later. Raleigh was relieved, the mood shot to hell after their fight, and Scott's drunken attempts at smoothing it out only made that worse. He didn't ask them to join when he informed them – well above conversational volume – that he'd be going back to the base, and so they didn't. 

The words “psychopath” and “killing spree” are still swirling around in Raleigh's head when he steps out of the shower, towels his face and his hair off a bit and wraps the towel around his waist, letting the rest of his body be dried by the warm Hong Kong air. Yancy is still playing dead on his bed, doesn't so much as twitch when Raleigh putters around to unearth fresh underwear from their small travel bags. They're scheduled to go back Alaska this afternoon, after another med check around noon to make sure they're fit for the trip home. He raids the first-aid-pack in the room for some painkillers, lays a pill out for Yancy too, before he gets dressed and takes off in direction of the mess hall. 

He doesn't tell Yancy where he's going, or leave a note. He'll know. 

Herc Hansen is handing his empty tray from breakfast back to the kitchen staff just as Raleigh picks up a bottle of water and sandwich for himself. He's alone, Scott nowhere in sight. He keeps his eyes down when they pass each other. Morbid curiosity rears its head, but not quite far enough to make Raleigh stop him and ask what last night was all about. 

He doesn't find that out until the new year, when Scott gets kicked off the PPDC and arrested for murder. It's big on TV, more press than any Jaeger pilot has gotten in years. 

Evening news shows Scott in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, head bowed as he's lead from the court house to a police van and the reporter jaws on about how Scott's a product of the fame heaped on pilots, some kind of rant about war heroes and misplaced glory. They show old footage from the deployments with Lucky Seven, interviews from the early days, people who were eager to get their fifteen minutes of fame even if it means trash-talking someone they once knew. 

“I can't imagine what it's like,” Yancy says as they both stare at the screen and think back to that bar. “To see your own brother kill someone, feel it, like –“ 

He doesn't need to finish the sentence for Raleigh to know what he means. Feel it like you did it yourself. All the newsfeed says is that Herc felt it in the drift and reported him, but unlike most other people, the two of them can actually grasp the concept. 

 

***

 

The trial starts three months later, a week after Herc and Chuck had their first deployment. Drifting with his son is vastly different from drifting with his brother, at the same time easier and so, so much harder. Chuck's just as vibrant and unpredictable and as much of a riddle to Herc as he has been since Angela died. But it works. They work. Not without hiccups, but it's going to be fine. 

On the day Scott is convicted for murder and locked away for basically the rest of his life, Herc isn't there. He hasn't set foot into the courthouse at all. He's in the Shatterdome, going over mission reports with Chuck and very pointedly not talking about what's happening at the other end of the city. They've got the TV stream off all day, and learn about the verdict that evening in an official circular note. 

Chuck pulls it up onto their main screen. Herc watches him read it over, eyes moving over the words, then look up. Without another word, Chuck swipes the note off the screen. “Back to work, Dad?” 

And that's that, Scott Hansen, out of their lives for good.


End file.
